There was a kind of charming innocence to Sally Rapehoax and her wild tales of repeated violation. It was the mid-1990s, a decade defined by the supposedly deep and emotionally esoteric secret lives of women. Tori Amos and the Lilith Fair exemplified this tone; the female identity needed to be something incomprehensible to men.
Sally’s claims of rape were inoffensive because there was no perpetrator named- the claim was entirely about Sally and her own identity. To believe Sally meant that she was a victim saddled with a sexuality so intense that it engendered an overwhelming lust in men who were willing to risk their lives to have her by any means necessary.
To believe Sally was a liar meant she was a deeply troubled girl with a wild imagination. Either way, you’re going to feel sympathy for Sally- so, mission accomplished. This kind of rape accusation carried with it the wistful innocence of Jack Horner shooting nudie cuties on film- you know it’s wrong, but it’s not really hurting anyone either.
We were somewhere around our second bottle of wine when I made the startling realization that Fake Winehouse’s unexpected British accent had faded into something typical and American. When I had picked her up that night for drinks at The Reptile Zoo, I told her I wasn’t expecting a British accent. She asked what I was expecting, and I didn’t have a good answer. You exchange a few messages with a girl on OKCupid and agree to meet for drinks; what is there to expect?
But it was when the accent disappeared entirely that I realized the true depth of the situation. I had cut right to the heart of it and was sitting on the main nerve; Fake Winehouse was a fucking lunatic. And I’m a stupid motherfucker who likes that kind of thing. Yeah… that’s me, the normal girls are boring type; I want the curve ball. I want the crazy girl; I want the hyper-emotional; I want the bizarre.
So of course the unexpected accent disappearing entirely from a girl who wonders why I think it’s funny that she’s “never been to Europe” is right up my alley. When the bill comes, I ask Winehouse how much she’s gonna throw in and she tells me that she didn’t bring any money. This was very funny to her. The accent was back. Son of a bitch.